


Competing with Solitude

by spotlightonmringenue



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Hurt James Bond (briefly), Hurt Q (briefly), M/M, Q Becoming Quartermaster, Q Has a Cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:46:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23193406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spotlightonmringenue/pseuds/spotlightonmringenue
Summary: “Hello. Can you hear me?”Bond would like to say no, just to distract himself from the lightning currently wrapped around his spine.“I think you’re dying but I would appreciate it if you didn’t. I’d feel obligated to dig a hole and that’s not really within my body’s capabilities.”He coughs in response, wet and uneven.“Oh, a collapsed lung. Thank you for that.”Perfect, Bond thinks.I’ve been saved by a smartass.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 17
Kudos: 574





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No Time to Die has me stressed, so I wrote this to cope. I'll probably upload the second chapter on Friday. Enjoy!

Bond claws at the helicopter floor, nails dragging against metal as the man clinging to his leg drags them further out of the cabin. With a rough kick, Bond watches the stranger plummet to the snowy cliffs rising fast underneath him as the whole machine spins out of control. He struggles forward, gripping the base of the seat and leveraging himself back inside as the pilot fights to shoot at him and steer the crashing metal beast. He shouts as Bond disarms him before delivering a quick hit to the temple with the back of the gun and tossing him aside to access the controls. MI6 picks up the call quickly, his handler still yelling because they lost contact with him when the fight started.

“007, you don’t know how to fly a helicopter. Do you see a parachute?”

“If I did, don’t you think I would be using it? Just tell me the basics.”

“There are no basics in flight training!”

Bond grips the yoke, attempting to pull back as the helicopter takes a nose dive but his body ends up smashed against the right window.

“This isn’t working,” he yells, balancing on whatever he can grasp as he moves toward the door. There’s a small cavity next to the yawning chasm of the open wall, through which Bond can see eight feet square by infinite depth. “I’m going to try something.”

“Absolutely not,” R says, her words almost grabbing his arm to pull him back into the helicopter. “If you jump out now, you will probably die.”

“I won’t survive the crash,” Bond says, having acknowledged this as soon as he boarded. He always has an escape plan. Unfortunately, some of them are less recommended than others.

“I can’t see where you are if you leave the vehicle. At your insistence, there’s no tracker on you, 007, so your body could be-”

“Then look until you find it.”

There’s no time left for her to respond and Bond hangs up, knowing that a voice in his ear won’t help him focus. The unconscious pilot slides past at violent speed as the helicopter banks again, unsure which way is up. Considering that Bond never sees the body land, he’s not confident about his odds. The helicopter curves around the mountainside, revealing a forest of snowy trees that continues for miles out from the base of the slope.

They approach fast and a tree taller than the rest hits off the side first, turning the wild spin into a lopsided wobble, falling faster with the engine failing to get enough power for flight. He pulls up his snow goggles, gripping the edge of the door and leaning forward as it goes down further, slamming into massive evergreens that leave his teeth rattling. Metal groans and screams for him, warped outer plates pushing into the main cabin.

Bond jumps and his weight makes the machine tilt, broken rotors swinging toward him as he catches the landing skid with one arm that’s almost wrenched out of socket. It does little to slow the fall of the helicopter and the speed of incoming trees, impact with one sturdy trunk knocking him away from the machine when his slick gloves lose their grip.

Everything comes crashing down, including Bond.

“Hello. Can you hear me?”

Bond would like to say no, just to distract himself from the lightning currently wrapped around his spine.

“I think you’re dying but I would appreciate it if you didn’t. I’d feel obligated to dig a hole and that’s not really within my body’s capabilities.”

He coughs in response, wet and uneven.

“Oh, a collapsed lung. Thank you for that.”

 _Perfect_ , Bond thinks. _I’ve been saved by a smartass._

He’s always wary when waking up. Spending enough nights in strangers’ beds makes a brilliant wake-up strategist, and Bond can tell a lot about a person by the way their house feels when he rouses himself from sleep. There’s a light blanket layer over a thin outfit that he’s wearing, none of the clothes his own. There is nothing leather or Kevlar or expensive that’s fitting him bespoke at the moment. It smells like a cabin and it’s very warm.

“Tea?”

Bond is still asleep.

“Isn't it rude to ignore me? I did save your life back there.”

Well, he’s supposed to be asleep. It’s just registered that the man is English, or at least his accent is, and Bond secretly hopes that he’s in a MI6 safehouse. When he opens his eyes, he finds a cat peering at him from the end of the bed. It stretches, keeping him in sight.

“Over here.”

Bond has to fight a laugh, but still can’t help commenting.

“Are you a hat person?”

The man crosses the room from the doorway, ignoring the quip about his hair beyond a little wrinkle that forms at the top of his nose. He pulls back the blanket and Bond finds that he’s capable of little more than tilting his head to watch as the man prods at his ribs with careful fingers.

“I’m surprised you were able to get more injuries, given the scars already covering most of your torso. You’ve had your fair share of accidents. Doing extreme sports at your age must have been advised against at some point by a licensed professional.”

“Medical and I don’t get along.”

“I'd assume so, given this poor stitch work.” His hand glides over the improperly healed pink scar as Bond gets a little offended. He only had alcohol and a fishing tackle box for that one, not to mention working on the run while pursued by several covert government agencies. “You were bleeding out with broken ribs and a bad lung but luckily for you, I always leave the house prepared in case my morning drives are interrupted by helicopters falling from the sky. You were the only body I found so I assume you’re just a terrible pilot.”

“Excuse me.”

The man looks up, blinking through slim glasses with a plastic frame that seems to pull the weight of them down his nose.

“Who the hell are you and where are we?”

“Oh,” the man says. Bond realizes that he’s significantly younger when his face is this close, wrinkle-free and still softened by cherubic features. Really, the hair.

“I took the liberty of checking the wallet I found on your body and discovered that your name is not only James Bond but also likely fake. It’s too dramatic to be a real person’s name so I don’t really want an explanation because the answer is probably worse than I could imagine. You should call me Q. We’re at my house because it’s the only place for miles.”

Bond thinks about this, wondering if this stranger has heard of Q branch and has been hired by another country’s service to work his way into Bond’s confidence. Then the man picks up his cat as it attempts to walk up Bond’s legs, muttering to it about how they’ve discussed not sitting on people’s chests anymore because it could deprive them of oxygen and lead to their death. 

Bond is reassured that he’s stumbled into something strange but probably harmless. 

Once Q has left the room with cat in hand, Bond struggles to sit up and immediately lays back down. It’s not really the pain causing the problem, but the immediate vertigo that wouldn’t let him take a step without falling over. He follows Q’s lead, tracing the planes of his stomach to find the bandage focused on his left side.

“You hit your head as well.” Q has returned with a metal bowl, setting it on the nightstand. “Please don’t miss and make me clean up vomit. My gag reflex is highly sensitive.”

“Pity,” Bond says, using the reaction to get a bit more information about his rescuer. There’s a moment of hesitation but not an actual response to whether he’s for or against Bond’s insinuation.

“I can’t project how long your recovery will take because I don’t know if the internal damage is worse than I thought. Since you can’t move, I’m willing to retrieve anything you might need.”

Bond checks the nightstand and the dresser, then Q himself, seeing empty pockets.

“Do you have a phone?”

“No service.”

“A landline?”

“No.”

“You just never get calls.”

Q straightens his sweater. “There’s a woman in town. Anyone who needs to contact me knows to call that number.”

“You’re one of those paranoid recluses. Do you think technology is out to get you, Q?”

“I think it’s already gotten me.”

He turns away, moving toward a small television stand. Bond watches him peruse a long shelf, loading a DVD and using the remote to get it ready to watch. His personality is large and vibrant considering his steady pace and bland clothes. It’s quiet but he takes up plenty of space. Bond can almost imagine the voice in his ear, directing him on landing a wayward helicopter and holding the attention of the Q branch until his work is done and Bond is on the way home. He’s cooperative with Bond, something that most people find to be impossible.

“I was planning to watch Quigley Down Under. You can join me.”

“Thank you,” Bond says, not sure where else he could go if Q didn’t allow him to stay. “Is that your name?”

“No. My pseudonym had a bit more thought involved than it took to come up with James Bond.”

“If my parents were still alive, they might be offended by that.”

“I’m an orphan too. It’s truly a hard knock life.”

Bond watches Q leave and return with a bowl of popcorn, kneeling onto the other side of the bed and taking a seat. Once his legs are crossed, the cat returns, making a home under his knee, eyes cracked just enough to see Bond still staring. When Q notices, he holds out the snack.

“I don't think popcorn’s good for you considering everything, but you’re welcome to find out.”

“You’re very strange, Q. Is there anything I should know, like how many bodies you have in your basement freezer?”

“If I wanted them frozen, I’d just stick them in a snowbank outside. That way I don’t have to deal with the smell.” When Bond doesn’t reach for the popcorn bowl, he turns back to the television, watching the movie and mouthing some of the lines from memory.

He needs to get out of here immediately. He’s in the company of someone with a brain that they use and looks that they’re comfortable in, a combination that spells disaster for people like Bond. He can’t get attached.

Or Q will die.

“You don’t even have a computer.”

Bond has limped out of the bedroom, getting a sour look from Q until he moves to the couch and takes a seat. The cat jumps out of range, heading to the armchair across the room and curling up in another streak of sunlight.

“I’m not a fan of them.”

“Neither am I, but I have one. In case of emergency.” He accepts a cup from Q and takes a small whiff of the steam, setting it aside as his nose unwrinkles. “I believe this is a kind of emergency, don’t you?”

“Having company is unfortunate but I’m sure I’ll survive.”

Bond smiles, looking out toward the backyard and the woods beyond. Much to his surprise, he likes the design of Q’s house. It’s open and clean, letting Bond take everything in and figure out potential exits. Where the bedroom is intimate for a loner, this room feels like a vacation with family, and seeing Q call to the cat from his side of the couch makes Bond wonder if that was intentional. 

“I’ve double-checked the calendar,” Q says. “He should be here by the end of the week with gasoline and groceries.”

Bond was skeptical when the snowmobile was empty but either Q drained it or was telling the truth. It refused to start as Bond watched from the porch. Apparently, someone runs things up to Q once a month, which reminds Bond that living here can’t be cheap. He doesn’t see unpaid bills or any signs of poverty, so he has to assume that Q got his money from somewhere and plans to keep it there for a while.

As someone recently in an accident, Bond isn’t too eager to venture out again. The men he stopped weren’t the last, meaning that if they haven’t tracked down the site yet then they will soon, and they’ll be looking for people like Q who may have stumbled onto it, to confirm that Bond died.

“What do you normally do here?”

“Read. I watch movies, as you know. I have paint but not enough patience to use it.”

“And that’s as exciting as your life gets.”

“Should I be getting into helicopter crashes until I’m 70?”

Bond narrows his eyes.

“I’m barely 50.”

“Still too old to be doing whatever it is you were doing up there.”

“You’d get along with my co-workers,” he says, standing from the couch because he knows it will irritate Q. He complains that Bond will only delay his recovery and have to stay longer if he walks around too much. The porch provides some solace. Bond sees two dog houses, the animals within plodding forward until they reach the end of their chains, sniffing in his direction. If he were wearing anything other than his thin dress socks, he might go to greet them. He wonders what other pets Q might have lurking around.

Bond’s migraine is reaching critical as he returns inside, accepting the pills from Q while claiming it was the temperature that brought him in. For being someone who seems so independent, Q is an excellent caretaker.

“Does anyone else live here?”

“Surely you don’t think I’m squatting in some millionaire’s vacation home?”

“I was wondering how someone who lives all the way up here could possibly get laid, actually. Do you have something to keep you warm at night?” He looks down and amends the statement. “Besides the cat.”

It weaves between Q’s legs and wanders into the kitchen as Bond waits.

“You can mock me all you’d like, James Bond. I think I’m more content here than you’ve ever been in your life.”

Bond likes that Q hasn’t dropped either name. He isn’t sure which one he likes hearing more. It isn't polite to push, so he accepts the answer for what it is as Q returns to the couch, reaching underneath the coffee table to retrieve a flimsy chess board and a cardboard case with the pieces scattered inside.

“Do you play?”

“I prefer cards, and only with high stakes.”

“Ah. Another thing someone at your age shouldn’t be doing.”

Now that Bond is allowed to wander around, he realizes that for an hour or two each day, Q disappears from the house. They still have two days until their savior arrives but Bond lives off excitement and mystery. He feigns sleep and creeps through the house, knowing that there are no rooms he hasn’t seen yet. He watches from a crouched position at the window as Q crosses the yard and disappears into the dense wood line, visual lost until Bond finds the thickest clothes in the small closet by the door and follows. 

The dogs don’t bark and Bond realizes that they aren’t in their houses, chains left stacked in the snow. He follows the dragging footsteps, ending in a small meadow surrounding a large shed. The dogs are resting just outside the door and a large metallic bang from within makes them look up, catching sight of Bond. 

They must have liked that meat he snuck them yesterday because they only react by wagging their tails as he passes and runs a hand over their head, finding the windowless building to be the strangest thing he’s discovered about Q so far.

Perhaps his initial guess wasn’t far off.

He can’t hide his entrance, the door rattling like he’s shaken a sheet of thin metal, but Q apparently has nothing to hide.

“Following me, James Bond? Are you imagining yourself as a dangerous and daring individual again?”

“I thought you hated technology.”

“Oh, I could never hate it,” Q says, patting a helicopter headlight. “I just don’t like the things that connect to larger networks. Mechanical endeavors are less deadly, once you know what you’re doing.”

Bond looks around to find himself in the middle of the wreck, if the broken parts had the decency to organize themselves into neat sections once the whole ordeal was over. Q has meticulously laid out and dismantled most of the lighter scrap, things he probably salvaged while Bond was breathing through bloody lips on the trailer behind the snowmobile. He once again wonders if he’s really shacked up with a madman.

Other parts in here are less familiar, complex machines hanging from the shelves and hooks that cover the walls. Q is not a messy person, placing tools back where they go before he retrieves the next. Bond wanders around, tapping various buttons and turning dials as long as Q doesn’t make a sound of disapproval. There isn’t even a radio playing as he works, and Bond can almost see this as the quiet research department at MI6. Q builds the prototypes and lets Bond try them first. He claims they’re experimental and Bond is the one he would be willing to risk if they happen to explode but they both know it’s because he’s Q’s favorite.

“Did you find a radio or GPS in the wreckage?”

“Of course. I left both behind, as I always do when gathering parts. Normally I have to go pick it up but this time, the helicopter came to me,” Q snorts, peering above his glasses as Bond approaches his workbench. Bond goes to ask another question but he sees a familiar device on the bench and picks it up.

“Is this my-” Q’s hand lands over his own, stopping him from lifting it to his eyes for scrutiny.

“It’s a watch with a faulty laser that you are holding entirely too close to your face. Set it down, please.”

Q waits and their joined hands eventually return to the desk. When Bond releases the watch, Q also removes his grip.

“You can take it back with you if you’d like. It’s broken, though I’m not willing to say it really worked in the first place.”

“You say that as though you could do better.” Bond gets a bit defensive of MI6. As much as he makes fun of Q branch, they are the smartest group of nerds in the world and they try to give him the best gadgets.

“We both know that I don’t say things unless I mean them. The inner workings are sensitive but I think I could rebuild it if I use some of what I have here.”

“Better not. I can’t risk anything happening to my dear Q, especially a faulty laser.”

Q’s face twitches, watching Bond lean slightly over the work in progress between them. His mouth opens, barely enough to breathe, and he returns to the machine without comment.

Days later, the watch is handed back to Bond and he fastens it to his wrist with a smile.

“Our last night together. We should celebrate, Q.”

“Champagne is the strongest thing I can offer you, I'm afraid.”

Bond holds in a sigh, accepting the glass and staring at the bottle with a bit of surprise.

“Bollinger. For me?”

“I don’t have many special occasions, as you can imagine. Kicking a leech out of the house is pretty high up there.”

Bond grins, wondering if Q really considers himself funny when he responds so quickly. He only laughs when he tells a terrible joke on purpose. The bed beside his hip shifts and Bond lets the cat push against his leg, flopping onto its side between them. Q scratches behind its ear.

“I am going to miss you, James Bond. You’ve been surprisingly delightful for someone so old.”

“Is that what’s stopping you?”

Q drinks slowly, rationing the golden champagne.

“You almost died. Your enthusiasm for connection isn’t unwarranted but I urge you to consider reality. This cannot be a relationship and I believe you know me enough by now to acknowledge that I thrive off of consistency. Someone with a name like yours can’t be what I’m looking for.”

“You’ll have to wait for the next person that turns up in your woods under mysterious circumstances.”

Q nods, sliding off the bed and setting his glass aside.

“Luckily for them, I’m patient.”

He looks through the movie shelf with thoughtful hands. Bond wonders if finishing the bottle would stop the nightmares he’s sure to have tonight about Q in the arms of someone else.

The roar of the snowmobile is heard right on time. Q is already by the window, cradling the cat for the moment it’s allowed him to do so as Bond zips up the last of his washed clothes, ready to brave the weather with a scarf of Q’s added around his neck.

“Oh, they’ve sent someone new.”

Bond looks up, watching as Q pushes the curtain farther aside and squints toward the parked snowmobile.

“That’s not the usual person?”

“No, I don’t think so. He must have gotten sick again. He’s elderly, like you.”

As Q reaches the front door, Bond grabs him around the waist, slapping a hand over his mouth and carrying him into the bedroom. Once inside, he looks around for the best place to hide, Q’s whispered protests stopping as Bond shushes him again.

There’s a knock on the door.

“You are being ridiculous! He is here to deliver milk, not kill us.”

Bond urges him toward the closet and Q steps inside with the cat still in his arms, honestly shocked as the door is closed behind him. He gets a steak knife from the kitchen and goes to the door, opening it with a pleasant smile.

The man returns it, gesturing to the snowmobile.

“Here for your delivery.”

"They remembered the coffee grounds this time, right?"

The man falters and Bond brings the knife behind his own back, turning to make himself a smaller target.

"I could have sworn it said tea. You wanted coffee? Christ, I've messed up on my first day. Um, I could get it and come back later. Once I drop this off? Oh, I am so sorry, I'm new to this job and-"

"Kidding," Bond says, relaxing enough to open the door wider and set the knife on Q's little bureau by the umbrella stand. "Let me help you carry it in."

"Really? That would be great."

Bond gets a bit nosy, peering through Q's food choices as the man talks about the drive up and gosh, isn't this weather just terrible. There's a hideous pair of snow goggles tucked between two bags, like someone had set them down for a moment and forgot about them. Earlier in the week, Bond had asked Q why he had ones that looked almost identical and learned that they were a gift from a friend, presumably the owner of the pair he's seeing on the floor of the trailer. The man driving has a different set around his neck.

"What did you say happened to the fellow who usually delivers?"

"I didn't," the stranger says, sighing as the barrel of a gun presses against Bond's neck at the place where it meets his spine. "No sudden movements, Mr. Quirrell. I’ve been told what you're capable-"

He's inexperienced and Bond disarms him without trouble, firing once through the head. Already stumbling feet tip the body back and it falls into the snow, blank eyes watching the woods.

“You’re right,” Bond says, opening the closet door and shrugging as he turns on the safety of the gun. “He was just here about the milk.”

Q stares at him, the cat leaping to the floor and running before it gets stuck in the closet again. Once the weapon is put away, Bond steps aside, allowing Q to exit. The man sits heavily on the bed.

“You’re too old to be a spy.”

“Get whatever you need for us to leave within the next ten minutes.”

He’s just finished dumping the groceries from the trailer when Q steps onto the porch. He has a backpack and an angry look on his face.

“I’ll buy you a new house.”

Q tightens the jacket around himself, staring out into the yard.

“You can’t stay here. If they come for you, they’ll kill you to find out what you know, even if it’s nothing.”

“And so you’re going to buy me a house.” Q puts his hands on his hips and Bond takes a deep breath, staying on the bottom step to physically avoid the rant he’s about to hear. “You, James Bond, apparent gentleman spy, are going to buy me a house because you crash landed a helicopter in my backyard. May I remind you that I didn’t ask for any of this. Living in the middle of nowhere is apparently not enough of a deterrent to people like you who take what you want without thinking about the consequences for the people left in the impact zone once you’ve gone.”

“Do you want me to free the dogs?”

“No, you’ve done enough.”

Bond moves so Q doesn’t bump into his shoulder on purpose, watching as he calls the dogs to him and unhitches the leash from the collar, herding them into the emptied trailer. He seems to hesitate, then has to wrangle the dogs into makeshift harnesses of bungee cords.

“Get the cat. Her carrier should be in the cupboard."

Bond jogs back inside, calculating the probability that the assassin was supposed to report in once the job was finished - and by dying, can't do that. Alarms somewhere are starting to go off. 

The cat barely protests, turning limp as he grabs it and the toy currently between its paws, putting both into the plastic cage. He begins coming down the steps of the porch when Q frowns from his place on the snowmobile.

"Last one out gets the lights," he says, nodding toward the living room lamps still shining through the front window.

Bond shoots without looking, a lone porch light shattering to the wooden planks below as he puts the weapon back in his waistband, securing the cage with the rest. Q has picked up and packed some of the groceries Bond discarded, including tins of pet food and boxes of tea, bags nestled next to his pack. It speaks of surprising mental clarity considering the dead body only a few feet away.

"Do you ever try to act without thinking?"

"Not if I can help it."

Bond hears the roar of engines and slides in front of Q, turning the key until the snowmobile rumbles to life beneath him. He swerves away from the house.

"Well, you may not have a choice," Bond shouts, zooming into the treeline just as a trio of vehicles bursts out of it, making rapid maneuvers to turn around and pursue.

"This is all your fault," Q says, being quite judgmental considering how his grip around Bond's waist is the only thing that keeps him from falling off the back. His healing ribs are furious but forced to cooperate as always. The first bullet lands in a tree that Bond has just passed, trying to pick up speed with the extra weight. Men trying to kill them don’t have two dogs and their cat in tow, sadly.

One of the bullets hits the side of the trailer, the dogs staying down as Q shouts a command in another language.

“You can drive with one hand,” Q says, grabbing Bond’s arm and forcing him to figure it out if he, in fact, can’t drive with one hand. When he’s allowed to use his limb again, the wrist is bare.

“You plan on using faulty lasers when I’m less than a foot away?”

“I made some changes.” With one hand latched onto Bond’s jacket, he waits for a pause in enemy fire and leans back, arm stretching into the trailer and returning with one of the gasoline canisters. Bond is too focused on avoiding trees to see what Q does but it sounds like the watch has been dropped into the flammable liquid. MI6 won’t be happy.

“When I say, pull hard to the left, then to the right.”

His hand returns to Bond’s waist, weight braced forward so he doesn’t get thrown off on the turns.

“Now,” he says, leaning over and leaving the canister in the snow as they correct to the right. “Quick as you can, Bond. We don’t want to be around when-”

A wave of heat and light from behind dyes the snow orange around them, their explosion shaking the woods as the ringing in Bond’s ears reaches its peak. In the end, there’s a faint scream and the sound of a single vehicle continuing across the mountain.

Bond stops, engine idling as he turns to look at the wreckage that’s brighter than the sun still rising behind it.

“Careful, Q. I’m really starting to like you.”

Q stares at the private jet with a deep frown, not looking for permission before he approaches the stairs. He doesn’t let Bond take any luggage, backpack secure over his own shoulders and cat carrier in one hand making him limp up the stairs so he doesn’t lose his balance. Bond isn’t boarding with anything but himself and take off is almost immediate, Q seated with all his animals in one corner, more makeshift restraints keeping his dogs from moving around the entire plane.

“So your name is Quirrell?”

“What? No, it’s the name I used for the deliveries.” Q relaxes in his seat, then sits up, leaning out to look at James in confusion. “You really thought I was named after a Harry Potter character?”

“You’re young enough.”

Q taps his fingers together, staring out the window in protest. The fidgeting slows to a stop.

“The man who died in my yard, he worked in the back of her store. Just moving what the delivery vans brought in. I think he’s been there for a few months, and for him to be… whatever he was, it must have taken a lot of discipline. Blowing his cover to take you out?” Q presses his lips together, clicking them apart with a deep inhale. “Well, you must be very important to someone, James Bond.”

“All the wrong people.” He smiles faintly, moving seats so they’re directly across from each other. The closest dog noses against his knee and he runs his hand over its head. “Since you’ve found that my name is real, could you tell me yours now?”

“I don’t really see the point,” Q says, snapping his fingers. The dog returns to his side and he covers the place where Bond’s hand touched. “Once we land, I’m never speaking to you again.”

“Then there will be no one to call me old. What shall I do without you?”

“Carry on as you did before we ran into each other. I’ll do the same.”

He says it like they bumped into each other on the street and Bond spilled a drink on his favorite sweater. And yet he predicted this. As soon as Q said that he’d be staying at the house for a few days, he knew that someone would track him there and demand things of Q that he couldn’t possibly know. Bond doesn’t often feel guilty because most people he encounters on his missions end up sleeping with him and seem pleased enough afterwards. This one lost their quaint life in the mountains after caring enough to save a stranger.

The cat is staring at him from behind the cage door and Bond knows how it likes to move around the large house constantly. He wonders if it hates him as much as Q.

“It will take you where you want to go,” Bond says, holding open the door of the subtle black car. MI6 meant it for him but he promised Q he’d get him somewhere he felt safe. “No charge.”

Once the animals have crowded into the expanded back seat, Q sits down, tilting his head back outside as Bond keeps the door open.

“Give me your phone number.”

“That’s quite forward of you, Q. Had a change of heart?”

“Someone’s going to buy me a house and given the luxury vehicles, I’m sure you can afford it.”

“I don’t carry business cards.”

“My memory is exceptional, or so I’ve been told.”

Bond tells him Moneypenny’s landline as it’s the only one he can think of in the moment. He has a phone but it’s not meant for anything but contact from MI6, so he never bothered remembering the number. Q nods, letting Bond shut the door before disappearing behind tinted windows. The car pulls away. Bond walks to the telephone hooked up just inside the hangar, dialing the number he gave Q.

“Hello, Eve.”


	2. Chapter 2

Bond saunters into the room and M sighs, excusing R from their meeting. She walks past with a bored look and the door clicks behind her.

“She’s refusing to be your handler again and I don’t blame her. If you had taken the equipment we suggested, she would have found you within hours. Instead, you take a week to call after we assume you’ve been killed in action and don’t have the humility to admit you were wrong.”

“If I had taken anything, they would have seen a wire. I never would have reached the men responsible.”

“Who you were supposed to collect and detain for MI6, not bring down in a fiery crash that was noticed by several parties we would prefer didn’t know about our top-secret missions, 007.”

“So I get a new handler.”

“Once I can find someone willing to work with you, yes. Until then, consider yourself on leave.”

“What if I promise to be good? Relatively.”

“There is nothing relative about being an insolent bastard.”

They’re interrupted by Moneypenny dropping off some files that M promptly opens, flipping through the attached photographs.

“You’re dismissed, 007. We’ll call when we’re ready for you.”

Bond sees snow and a familiar face, reaching forward to smooth out the glossy picture as M’s hand relaxes on the edge, eyes threatening to smack his fingers off the sensitive documents. A quick glance at the paper underneath tells him that the dead man was a fresh agent, sent for reconnaissance on a potential lead in an old case.

“This man was MI6?”

“Active until a week ago. Why?”

“Because I shot him.”

Bond remains still as Moneypenny explains again, the watchful eyes of some MI6 staff waiting for him to react or respond.

“He was supposed to report information collected on the suspected target and confirm their identity, but we believe he found that the criminal we were searching for was present at the house and took matters into his own hands. He went alone and there’s no way of knowing what happened afterwards.”

“I told you what happened afterwards. He held a gun to my head. I thought someone had heard about the house and figured it was the only place I could have gone if I had survived the crash.”

There are a few whispers and Bond presses his hands together, then pushes against his knees, rising from the chair.

“The only person there was Q and-”

Bond stops, remembering what the agent had said about Q being capable. If MI6 doesn’t have an image of their suspect, he could be anyone. Was it just a coincidence that the people hunting Bond showed up moments after an MI6 agent?

“As it stands, you are the only person we know that could give us a positive ID on him. We don’t even have a name besides calling him the hacker.”

“Q hates technology. He didn’t have a phone, for Christ’s sake.”

“Because he knows how easy it is to be found when you own one. Please, Bond. At least meet with the sketch artist.”

Bond stares at the thin files on M’s desk, brought in when Bond tried to deny Q’s part in all this. He thinks about the reality of the intelligent mechanic with an aversion to alcohol and love for western movies matched with a notorious hacker that has come close to dismantling the British government more than once. 

No one can say that Bond doesn’t learn his lessons about trusting the right people.

Moneypenny bites at her nails, pausing once she remembers where she is. Everyone is too busy watching R as she pulls up satellite cameras of the street where Bond disappeared and the surrounding area, fingers moving fast enough to make mistakes that are only noticeable when she curses under her breath or mashes a certain key.

R takes a deep breath.

"I've lost him."

A few people shift, waiting for something that may take hours. Bond had insisted on this mission due to its high risk. He wanted to help them bring the hacker in. He's also insisted that Q - if he truly was the genius they believed him to be - would find out everything he could about James Bond, and not only keep tabs on him but come to the rescue if he must.

M called it insane but allowed him the chance to be proven wrong.

He tells Moneypenny to keep him updated, leaving right when his shift requires. He's called exactly five hours later, after they discover that a building has exploded in the same area where Bond disappeared. The agent hasn't made contact to establish whether he survived.

MI6 is relatively quiet, the night security guard nodding as M slides his badge over the required access pad. He catches an elevator just before it closes, swiping his master card to access the floor for Q branch. M watches the numbers descend.

"Long night?"

"Very," M admits, noticing the employee standing near the back wall. His badge color says that he's in research and development. "Yours?"

"Haunted by constant excitement."

M nods in sympathy.

"It's the Double O’s, right? I'm told that the rate and frequency of destroyed prototypes suggests that they believe we're made of money."

"Yes. So many watches lost to carelessness."

"Sorry to hear it."

It rings on their floor and M allows the man to exit first, following him down the hall. As they reach the door for R and D, the stranger stops, hands gripping the strap of his shoulder bag.

"You know, I find that the best relaxer after a night spent working with anyone from MI6 is a cup of tea and the oldest movie on your shelf."

M ponders the advice, checking the badge again.

"Thank you for sharing, Quentin. I may have to take that advice here shortly."

“Happy to help.”

The light thoughts of what he should watch when he gets to return home are interrupted when he enters Q branch and feels the atmosphere descend. As much as they pretend to dislike Bond for breaking their toys and falling off the grid, everyone is somber with the thought of his death. He’s the best they have, though M is loath to admit it.

“Miss Moneypenny?”

“We thought we saw him on one of the cameras but the backup agent we sent to check the area said the trail ended before he saw anyone of interest.”

“What are the odds?”

Moneypenny leans in, so he’s the only one who can hear when she speaks. 

“R’s been shaking for the last ten minutes. There are no leads, no witnesses, no ways into the chaos that she hasn’t tried.”

M straightens, taking a deep breath and surveying the remaining crowd, all her techs pretending to work while they’re watching and waiting for R to keel over out of exhaustion. They may be planning to catch her in the way down.

“If he isn’t found in the next hour, end the search.”

R pauses in shock, expression flickering into disapproval before she controls it. The strange part is how the screen behind her keeps moving, videos and files pulled up until they fill the display, a program beginning to run on the left side of the monitor. 

“What the hell is this?”

Her eyes are darting between the code and her own keyboard, trying to slow the progress only to be rebuffed without pause.

“I can’t- I don’t know what they’re doing.”

M’s brow furrows, wondering if Bond really put his faith in the right person. Even if he met the hacker, what proof did he have that they would sacrifice their personal security for his own?

_I know him_ , Bond had said. _He would come out of hiding just to make a smartass comment about my age if I gave him half a chance._

Moneypenny’s sharp inhale returns him to the moment, employees clustering around the screen as a single rectangle blinks, outlined in red. It expands to fill the monitor. In the lower corner, a man is limping past a hotel entrance and entering a thin alleyway. The view reveals Bond as he slumps against a building, gripping the handle of the side door and shoving until he falls inside. 

When the camera changes, their image is much clearer. It displays the inside of a small storage facility lit by orange floor lights with Bond seated by the door. A smaller image on the right shows a few men moving fast and quiet on the street he just left, clearly still looking for him.

A phone rings. At least, M thinks it does. Bond looks up at a wall phone across the aisle, pushing to his feet once more to stumble toward it. Most of his weight stays braced on the wall as he lifts the receiver, and then they have audio. It plays through Q branch from speakers on R’s desk. There’s a smile on Bond’s face.

“Evening, Q.”

Everyone looks to the real Quartermaster who shrugs, and then R is typing frantically again, trying to pinpoint the phone now that it’s been located. Bond continues having a one-sided conversation.

In the R and D department across the hall, Q counters R’s attempts to find him and finds the best path for Bond to take in order to reach the port.

“It’s morning now, Bond. You’ve kept people up well past midnight with our game of chicken.”

He tags all the goons through his facial recognition, wondering if he could send Bond toward the lone ones just to get a weapon and make it easier to protect himself.

“Now, how would you like to get home?”

“Do I have options?” Bond asks, voice curious and breathless as he closes his eyes. He’s clearly wounded but it should be manageable.

“Whatever I do, it will have to be fast. I don’t think your employer would be very happy to see me.”

“Who, M?”

“Yes, he’s here.”

“Didn’t know he cared.”

A few more screens appear and Q scoffs.

“More men with big guns. At this point, I’m almost certain you have a death wish, James Bond.”

“I think we’ve reached the point where you can call me 007.”

“Right. How well can you walk?”

“Two miles if I can go slow. Half a mile if I need to run.”

“How about a light jog?”

“I could use the exercise,” Bond chuckles.

“Follow the flashing lights and I’ll call if something changes. Whenever you’re ready, 007.”

Bond hangs up, moving to the door. His shoulders roll as he takes a deep breath, quietly opening the door and stepping outside. The first light flashes and R’s attacks pause for a moment, everyone’s eyes turning to the camera feeds as Q uses the hacked city power grid to bring Bond home.

Bond ends up with one of their cell phones as well, picking up Q’s call as soon as it comes through. Once he’s out into the harbor and they double-check that no one is following, Q packs his computer, disconnecting from MI6’s network.

“This is twice I’ve saved your life.”

“Which means you’re not who you said you were. I didn’t take you for a hypocrite.”

Q steps into the elevator, checking that the camera in the corner of the ceiling is inactive.

“Are you upset that I didn’t tell you about my past or that your super-spy senses didn’t figure it out on their own?”

“Both,” Bond says, feeling honest in his irritation. Q hums in understanding.

“Well, I’m glad that your attachment to me was so temporary that you felt it appropriate to risk your life trying to get me caught.”

“How did you know M was there?”

“Oh, he gave me floor access. I was able to get inside but I hadn’t gotten a chance to hack the elevator before he came in and swiped his fancy platinum card.”

Bond grins, turning the boat so he remains close enough to the shore for cell service.

“How reckless, Q. He can identify you now.”

Q holds his arm out for a taxi, climbing inside and giving the driver his address.

“And you can find me, if your hearing hasn’t gone yet. Use the information wisely, 007. I’d hate to move again so soon.”

M stares at the screen. R had announced a few moments ago that the hacker had to have been inside MI6 to work on such short notice without leaving a very clear trail. This had led to a brief moment of feeling utterly stupid before M got over it, requesting that she try something for him.

_Employee Name Search: Quentin_

_**No Results Found** _

When the phone rings, M accepts the device from Moneypenny, holding it up to his ear without a word.

“I don’t think I’m going to be very much help to you from now on,” Bond says.

“Yes, thank you, 007.” He hands the phone back to her, approaching R’s desk. “Go home and rest. When you get back, do everything you can to find him.”

She nods, gathering her coat and laptop. It’s a hard lesson, but she’s not too proud to admit that there is always someone better than you. She’ll just have to track him down and demand that he teach her everything he knows.

Bond sees Q’s cat in the second story window of the apartment block, heading into the building and knocking on the door connected to that view.

“Isn’t there an age limit for the Double O program?”

“We don’t normally need one given our shortened life expectancy.” He smiles as Q opens the door wider, shuffling out of the way so Bond can enter. Once the door is closed, he steps closer than personal space allows, hands deep in his pockets as his eyes memorize the curve of Q’s collarbone.

“Sorry to disappoint, 007, but I’m still unavailable.”

“Then am I here to play house?”

“Call it what you like but if we were really playing house, I’d at least entertain the thought of sleeping with you tonight,” Q says, picking up the cat before it tangles itself around Bond’s ankles.

He stays for two movies, reminding himself to bring his own alcohol next time.

“M wants you to act as liaison.”

“To what?”

“To Q.”

Bond unbuttons his jacket, leaning back against her desk. Moneypenny is fighting a sigh.

“If you can’t beat him, join him?” Bond asks.

“Precisely. If I understood him correctly, as I always do, Q is to be offered a job here as discreetly as possible. He’s on watch lists for many countries and until he agrees and becomes protected under MI6 employment, they could track him down and extract him at any time. We would have no authority. If you could convince him to work with us then not only does M get a new piece on the chessboard of MI6, but it happens to be the most powerful piece there is.”

“The Queen.”

Moneypenny nods, then looks surprised.

“I didn’t know you played chess.”

“I’ve taken an interest lately,” Bond says, picking up a pen from her desk and scribbling on the closest piece of paper.

“What’s that?”

She pulls it toward herself once he flourishes the last zero and slides the pen into his jacket.

“That is the amount of money I need you to withdraw from my account. Q has won a very recent bet.”

“He found out about your gambling problem, then?”

“That’ll be all, Eve.”

Q’s clutching his laptop to his chest, staring around the room with sharp interest.

“It’s larger than I’d like.”

No one is sure what to do with this information. M extends an arm, encouraging him to walk further into Q branch. He gives a brief tour and leaves Tanner as an escort, his presence required for a meeting elsewhere in the building. Bond waits for Q to return to the large bench they’ve cleared for him, leaving the wires unplugged as the machine boots up.

“I think he liked you.”

“Because he doesn’t want to dislike me. Keep your friends close and your enemies away from other major world powers. You could learn something from him,” he says, beginning to type as Bond’s eyes move on from their relationship with Q’s lips.

“Since you’re going to be consistently here for the near future, how about getting dinner with me tonight?”

“I’ve grown accustomed to home-cooked meals. Needs must when you live on a secluded mountainside.”

“I’ll cook,” Bond offers. Q notices something onscreen and clicks his tongue, retrieving one of the network wires and plugging it in. He lets a program run while digging through his bag. His hand returns with a empty mug, setting it aside before he looks up at Bond.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be, 007?”

Tanner hides a smile behind a cough, scratching absently as his throat as Bond raises an eyebrow at him.

“You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

“Make what easy?” Q is busy filling the pencil holder on his desk but he looks up in surprise. “Oh. That, yes- Wait, you’re still trying?”

“Thought I was being too obvious.”

“Just strange, that’s all. I mean you showing interest at all is flattering and I’m not sure if you could stay the night considering that I think the cat’s tried to smother you a few times.” Q shakes his head, clearing all the random thoughts. “Anyway. To answer your question, no means no, 007. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

The room gets very quiet because Q didn’t bother to lower his voice. He did that on purpose.

“Carry on, Q.”

Now that he cooperates with someone at MI6, Bond is handled well and often, taking more missions with higher stakes as it becomes clear that he can sometimes follow instructions. All his previous handlers get a bit more frustrated because it means he could have done so the whole time and decided against it.

One of the missions has him returning to MI6 with a fractured ankle and a massive bump on the head. It’s not a great look, and Q doesn’t even visit when he’s forced to take tests with Medical to determine how much leave he should get. It’s not until Bond has finally pushed himself out of bed that his friend appears, holding the door open for him. They reach the taxis outside and much to his surprise, Q climbs into the same backseat, giving the driver his personal address.

“If you’re left to your own devices, you’ll be walking on that far before you really should. Besides, the cat likes rubbing her head on the Velcro part of joint braces.”

Bond lets himself be pampered, accepting the meal that Q hands him for dinner and leaning his head back against the couch as Q puts music on. He works on his laptop constantly now.

“My only vice,” Q says, feeling Bond’s eyes on his neck. “It’s why I allotted time for the workshop and never kept any electronics in the house. You know how temptation goes.”

“I know very well,” Bond says, eyes following the dark curls that graze Q’s collar when he hunches forward, peering at a difficult bunch of code.

Bond has grown used to sleeping on the man’s couch, but he envies the cat for its place in the bedroom.

Then Q gets promoted. 

M decided that if he’s going to betray them, it’s better to get it over with before anyone lets down their guard. The hacker is watched by the other Q branch members, all double-checking his work and his screen throughout the day to make sure he isn’t sabotaging them, and Q delights in scolding them for being so distracted from real work.

Bond gets escorted through his missions personally, and it’s a cold day at MI6 when he realizes that all the Double O’s have been getting the same treatment since Q became Quartermaster.

“I’m tired of the pouting, 007. What would you like?”

“A damn good watch.”

Q looks amused, a faint smile on his lips as he mentally adds it to the list.

“Consider it done.”

It comes in a lovely wooden case with a warning label larger than its face, and Bond has never loved anything more. 

Dinners get cancelled often due to their fluid work schedules, plans communicated through short messages with apologetic intent. They understand how it goes in the business. If Bond just brings the food to Q instead of Q to the food, he finds that his chance of success increases.

So he waits at the apartment for an hour, then calls Moneypenny.

“He’s been taken. Tell R to find him before I get there.”

He imagines that this is how Q saw him when they first met. There’s more blood than clear skin and if it weren’t for the way his eyelids crack open, Bond would think he was already gone.

“If you die now, you’ll never get that house I owe you,” Bond warns him.

Q seems disoriented and only concludes that its Bond cradling his skull after some hard squinting.

“Why would I need a house when you’ve already given me a home?” Q asks.

“More room for cats.”

Bond fires the last shell, nodding as the whole dummy ignites and begins to burn away. He leaves the room, seeing Q typing something into his notes before limping to his desk. Bond racks the weapon with the others.

“That was the last of them, 007. Thank you for your time.”

“You can ask me to test things anytime, Quartermaster.”

Q frowns for a moment, then picks up a ring of keys, crouching to access a lower drawer.

“I’d like to test your sincerity now, if you don’t mind.”

Bond circles the desk with interest, watching as Q resurfaces with a slim box, longer than it is wide. It reminds Bond of the watch box.

“This is a highly durable material that I’ve wanted to put in the field for a while. It passed the testing trials earlier today.”

Q opens the box, revealing the contents with an eager blink.

“It’s a tie.”

“It’s a highly functional tie, 007.” When Bond narrows his eyes, Q fidgets for a moment, then closes the lid. “I understand. Perhaps 006 will appreciate the opportunity to use a project that I’ve spent the last three months developing for sole use in the Double O program-”

“Give me the damn tie.”

Bond loosens the one around his neck currently, collar lifted as he pulls on the longer side, fabric snaking around his throat until he can wrap it around his palm. He goes to trade Q for the replacement only to find his vision limited as Q leans in, arms circling Bond’s head as he drops the tie around his shoulders, pulling to the center. He straightens Bond’s collar over the new tie, working on the four-in-hand knot with steady movements, like he’s practiced.

He raises his chin, allowing Q to straighten the finished product until his collar points lay flat.

“Entirely bulletproof, with a micro tracker that’s inlaid and undetectable to metal detectors. With its durability and tensile strength, it works as a makeshift garrote and restraining method for those who dislike your particular method of confrontation. Of course, it can be a cloth gag as well. It’s fire resistant, dry cleaning safe-”

“And the color matches my eyes.”

“Well I tried, but we could never get it just right.” 

Q pauses, looking up to see Bond smile with a little bit of pride and plenty of genuine amusement. The Quartermaster takes a deep breath, hands still grazing the edges of the tie. 

“It’s a difficult shade to replicate, 007.”

Bond raises his hands, running them down from the perfect knot until they bump into Q’s fingers. They overlap and hold him in place.

“Thank you, Q.”

He nods minutely, fast eyes keeping their gaze strangely even on Bond.

“It might be best if you let go now,” Q murmurs.

“If you’d like.”

“I would. I’d prefer it, actually.”

As soon as Bond lifts his fingers, Q extricates himself gracefully, placing the lid back on the empty box and sliding it back into the drawer. Bond excuses himself, wishing the Quartermaster good night before leaving him alone in the room. If he struts more than usual on the way upstairs, no one bothers to comment.

His next mission takes place on domestic soil. After another scrape with death, a finishing squad comes to his rescue. Q approaches the recently saved Bond, checking the gash that stretches over his shoulder.

“The prototype was meant to stay on your person, 007, not be left with the restrained bad guy for us to find and wonder where you’ve run off to.”

“Did I forget to cancel movie night?”

Q takes a deep breath, leading the way out of the room. When they make it outside without being accosted by MI6’s medical team, Bond follows Q into the taxi, thanking him without words.

He treats the wounds with the same precision that Bond imagines he used after the crash to patch an unconscious stranger. All the animals seem eager to stay in the same room and offer moral support. Q washes his hands when he’s done, returning with a drink for Bond and handing it over as he speaks.

“You are consistently trying to die on me, James Bond. Though I may regret saying this, I believe I can live with that.”

Bond had just finished tipping back the drink in one swallow and he stares at the warped image of Q through the bottom of the tumbler. It clicks against the coffee table as he sets it aside, watching the man place both hands behind his back.

“So once you’re healed properly, I would like to get dinner and end your exile to the couch. I can’t promise that the cat won’t nearly suffocate you by sleeping on your chest but-”

He encourages Bond’s interruption, fingers curled tight around the wrist of the hand that Bond tangles in his hair. The agent’s other hand bears a makeshift splint as it circles Q’s waist and pushes against the center of his back, making him step further into Bond’s space. There's a pause when Bond ends the kiss, and he grabs the corner of Q’s glasses, dropping them onto the couch.

“I have been in worse states than this, Q. And I’m not very good at being patient.”

“I’d hate to keep you waiting.”

_He’s set on firewood for another month. Q restacks the last cut log and places both hands on his hip, turning in a small circle before he remembers what he wanted to do next. The door to his workshop rattles like thunder._

_It’s quiet in the woods. He was expecting solitude, craved it, but there’s something numbing about clean and undisturbed snow. The wildlife is quiet, the trees are taller, and both make Q feel very small. But he can’t keep this in the house. He’d never stop working and too much of a good thing could make him impulsive, craving a computer for just a moment. Which would doom him._

_As a lonely person, it wasn’t difficult to get lost. He imagines the day will come where they’ll knock on his door, but most of Q’s escape plans are improvisational. He likes making it up as he goes along because it makes the day to day seem less bleak. In reality, he has doomed himself to a life of running. The cat is a reminder of the life he wanted as a child, with a cozy fire and family dinners._

_But then he discovered computers._

_It was love at first sight, and Q knew it was all he would ever need. Machines are his nearest substitute, but that’s just because he’s good with them as well. When a boom rattles the walls of his fortress, Q pokes his head outside to see the smoke rising, far away. He thinks about his unfinished projects as he loads the snowmobile, driving out toward the scene._

_Q finds pieces along the way, scooping them up before he continues his drive. Anything that wasn’t broken from the chassis remains melted into the frame or scattered in a small clearing of wrecked trees. The parts will have to be fixed but Q likes having something to do. No one’s inside, so he imagines something went horribly wrong and they’ve been lost to the wind or used a parachute to bail out._

_As he goes to start the snowmobile for the trip home, he hears a light humming. It is louder than the woods usually allows, and he walks in small jagged lines, trying to find the source. The crash is still in sight as he sees its trail of destroyed trees, some trying to ignite and failing under the soft flurry that starts up. There’s a faint red line, and Q approaches it to find a laser boring into one of the burnt trees. The angle leads him around a massive oak and in an area of disturbed snow, a man is laying on his back, arm flung out to the side as his watch continues to malfunction, the laser sporadically starting and stopping. It takes a moment to remove it safely and get it to stop, but Q manages, realizing that this hardware means someone very dangerous has just landed on his mountain retreat._

_The snow picks up and Q realizes they should move fast, shaking the man’s shoulder before second-guessing the choice and seeing the red that started to seep into the snow behind his head. He pulls off a glove, wriggling his hand under the collar of the man’s coat to test for a pulse, seeing the shallow breath escaping in puffs of air. His heart is strong._

_Q tests the wound on the stranger’s head, making sure his skull isn’t broken before attempting to remove the damaged snow goggles. He tucks them into a pocket, thinking of how he can dismantle them for the plastic frames as he glances back at the man’s face, pausing for a moment.  
He is frozen in place, kneeling in the building snow as it melts on his exposed hand and staring. It feels like this is the only thing he’ll ever need, to see this man alive when probability would deny it possible._

_There’s a rustle, the shifting of snow. Q glances at the bare wrist and attached hand where he removed the watch earlier, seeing the fingers twitch, moving to close around nothing. When they relax again, Q finds himself reaching out, his middle fingertip just grazing the exposed palm before there’s a choked gasp of uneven breathing. His hand retreats, watching the chest heave before it settles back into a rhythm, the man’s brows furrowed as his eyes remain tightly shut._

_“Hello? Can you hear me?”_

“Damn cat,” Bond mutters, lifting the animal off his chest and holding it over the floor until it jumps out of his hands and darts out of the room. He notices Q watching him from the doorway, glasses retrieved from the living room and hair hopelessly unstyled.

Bond shifts to the other side of the bed, extending a hand once he’s settled. After a moment, Q’s hand slides into his own and he pulls him underneath the covers until he’s propped against Bond’s chest. Q tilts his head, mouth drawn in thought before it relaxes.

“James.”

Bond smiles, running his fingertips around Q’s ear to tuck the curls away from his face.

“Trying something new?”

“Extremely new.”

His eyes wander over Bond’s face as the agent’s hand relaxes, flat over his own heartbeat, the other wrapped around Q’s back.

“What?”

“You’ve been alone longer than I have," Q points out. "I’m sure you’ve adjusted to it. Are you sure this is what you want?”

“No,” Bond says. “But I’m willing to bet that age has nothing to do with it. You're not certain about this either.”

Q thinks about this, letting himself be rolled onto his back as Bond turns, stretching an arm out and propping himself up over Q. The apartment is quiet around them, but the sounds of life seep into the silence, muffled people moving and talking in other spaces, the streets outside with their passing cars. Bond can tell a lot about people’s houses when he wakes up, but he can tell even more about places when he’s trying to fall asleep. It’s the more difficult thing to do.

Right now, Q keeps one hand on Bond’s side, using the other to set his glasses on the nightstand. He squints a little until his eyes adjust. Bond brushes the dark curls off his forehead with a careful hand, moving to trace the shadows of Q’s face before leaning in for a kiss. 

Q blinks as the agent pulls away, seeing the faint lines at the outer edge of his eyes deepen in amusement.

“Will you be uncertain with me, James Bond?”

Bond hums for a moment, memorizing the faint bruising of Q’s lips while he’s this close.

“Well, you did save my life.”

“Twice,” Q reminds him.

Bond chuckles, nodding before he kisses him again.

“Twice.” He ducks his head, mouth tracing from the edge of the curls beneath Q’s ear to the hollow of his collarbone.

“Is that a yes?”

“You tell me,” Bond murmurs, shifting his weight to rest between Q’s thighs. The man laughs and Bond weaves their fingers together, pressing his hand into the bed.

On the couch, the cat prowls to a stop, stretching across the cushions and deciding if it’s comfortable. The fabric is faintly warm from one of the dogs capitalizing on the space earlier tonight, both asleep in their beds in the far corner of the living room. There’s a line of moonlight that wavers as the curtain is blown slightly back and forth by air conditioning. The cat feels well fed and tired. It peers around the empty room and checks that it's safe before both eyes slide shut. 

Solitude has its moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought! Kudos and comments are wonderful.


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